As far as I know, only there is only one member of Pre-flight class 28-62 whose name appears on the Viet Nam Veterans Wall in Washington, DC. That classmate is John Abrams, killed while flying for HAL-3 in the Mekong Delta. John was also a squadron mate of mine in HS-7 in Norfolk from 1964-1966. I met John for the first time after lights-out on our very first night in Pensacola, in that crowded bunk room where about sixty of us huddled in nervous anticipation of the next encounter with our drill sergeant.
My roommate from college, Ed Higginbotham, had entered the program several weeks ahead of me, and he advised me sternly NOT to show up at Pre-flight early on the first day. I arrived around five PM, and had enough time to get the full brief about the Quarterdeck (which I traversed without the proper acknowledgement), the position of attention (which I had already memorized, thanks to Ed), and when to assume that position (whenever Sgt. Hoffman entered the massive bunk room).
I was also made aware, at the top of Sgt. Hoffman's lungs, what was expected of me (of all of us) at reveille the next morning. To wit: be standing at attention beside your bunk, with a sheet in each hand and the pillowcase over your head. Seemed a bit extreme to me, but I was prepared to do whatever the Sergeant wanted, if it meant I escaped his undivided attention.
We had turned in at taps, after a pointed lecture on how to make up a bunk with hospital corners, with the top sheet turned down so that a dollar bill fit precisely across it. About an hour later (I was not asleep, and I doubt many of us were) in comes our last arrival, John Abrams. The bunk above me was one of the only ones left, and John struggled into it with many questions, which I and those around me tried desperately to hush up.
Of course John wanted to know what the straight skinny was; and although it seemed to me that I was risking some sort of hideous torture from the sergeant, I got him somewhat quieted down and then informed him of the next morning's drill. "When the lights go on tomorrow at 5 AM, be standing beside your bunk with one sheet in each hand and your pillowcase over your head"!
"You gotta be shitting me"!!
Naturally, John was skeptical. He had not yet experienced Sgt. Hoffman's cold stare or apoplectic screams. He would soon get more of them than any of us ever wanted, when we were being outfitted with uniforms and such a few days later. That's another story.
"Listen, Buddy", I said, "I don't care if you believe me or not; but when the Sergeant flips on those lights in the morning, you DO NOT want to be the only sad sack in this room without a sheet in each hand and a pillowcase over your head! Now hush the hell up and let's get at least a little sleep"!
I don't remember who else I met on that first day. It was a shocking day, even allowing for the good advice I got from Ed Higginbotham. Was it on that first day that we learned how to enter the sergeant's office? ... Step smartly to the brass plate in the middle of the double door. Right face. Position of attention. With right hand, slam the metal-trimmed entrance as hard as you possibly can, bruising your thumb painfully in the process. Sergeant doesn't look up. Slam again, even harder. Sergeant asks the private if he hears some kind of pitiful tapping. Slam until the walls shake.
"What the hell do you want, lowlife"?
"Sir! Cadet Stoddard to see the Drill Sergeant, Sir!"
"Stoddard, why is your OD jacket over your head"?
Sir! My OD jacet was unbuttoned during RLPI, Sir"!
"Unbuttoned? You worthless puke! Assume the position! Give me thirty pushups"!
Thirty quick pushups.
"Stoddard! Who is that outside my door"?
"That's my roommate, Cadet Stark, Sir"!
"Why is he here"?
"His OD jacket was unbuttoned as well, Sir"!
"Stark! Give me thirty pushups"!
"Stoddard"!
"Sir"!
"Are you going to let your roommate do his pushups all by himself"?
"No sir, sergeant"!
Thirty more....
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Preflight Memories by Ron Wilson
Prior to the Navy, the closest this Kansas farm boy had ever been to an airplane was when I was plowing and a plane flew overhead at 30,000. Because the Army was threatening, my college roommate, John Chapman, and I found ourselves checking into Pensacola. Within minutes, I was saying, “What the hell did I get myself into?” Ever since I was 12-years-old, I had made my own decisions, now, after being told how to polish shoes and bounce a quarter off a sheet, I was trying to figure out how to get back to the farm. I ended up in class 28-62, only because I had failed a math test and was put into a special week-long school. During that week, we had math class all day long. We wore poopy suits, every day—for class, chow and marching. We were outcasts. When we went to church, we smelled so bad they put us up in the balcony away from the rest of the cadets. At the end of a week, I passed the math test and joined preflight class 28-62. What an experience!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lessons Learned in Preflight by Mike Matyas
Meaning of Stupidity: Arriving at NAS Pensacola carrying a typewriter.
Don’t drop your guard: That first day walking onto the base, meeting a guy driving a military car with a gorgeous wife, who stopped and gave Lawson and I directions, and as he pulled away saying “I’ll be seeing you.” We later learned he was the base commander.
Suffering doubt and uncertainty: Laying in the rack that first night saying to myself “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”
Best bluff ever witnessed: Hearing John Abrams’ gridiron answer of “Admiral Agamemnon, Sir!!” to Sgt. Hoffman’s question “Who is NAVCOMALANTICFLEET dah dah dah?” (Agamemnon was a character in Greek mythology.)
Meaning of Sheer Guts: Believing that I was as good as the guys standing next to me, and betting that they can’t kick all of us out of the program (I hoped).
Accepting the Truth: Realizing that I had found something that I was truly mediocre at (at best).
S. Mike Matyas, Jr.
Don’t drop your guard: That first day walking onto the base, meeting a guy driving a military car with a gorgeous wife, who stopped and gave Lawson and I directions, and as he pulled away saying “I’ll be seeing you.” We later learned he was the base commander.
Suffering doubt and uncertainty: Laying in the rack that first night saying to myself “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”
Best bluff ever witnessed: Hearing John Abrams’ gridiron answer of “Admiral Agamemnon, Sir!!” to Sgt. Hoffman’s question “Who is NAVCOMALANTICFLEET dah dah dah?” (Agamemnon was a character in Greek mythology.)
Meaning of Sheer Guts: Believing that I was as good as the guys standing next to me, and betting that they can’t kick all of us out of the program (I hoped).
Accepting the Truth: Realizing that I had found something that I was truly mediocre at (at best).
S. Mike Matyas, Jr.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Preflight Memories...by Jim Stark
Prefight was a rude awaking for this cocky college kid. The day I walked into that indoctrination battalion, I honestly thought I had mistakenly entered a POW compound. Man, what a shock that was! And when Sgt Hoffman told us that getting a sunburn was a court martial offense, I believed him.
Therefore, this memory has stuck with me all these years. Several of us—and I can’t remember who else was involved—went to the beach on one of those rare free afternoons. We knew not to stay long because of the dreaded sunburn threat, but we all rolled around in the sand at the water’s edge, enjoying the cooling waters. Then someone noticed that we were all covered with black oil stains, spilled by the Gulf tankers.
We all hurried back to the barracks and jumped into the shower. Soap didn’t remove the oil, so we used lighter fluid and stiff brushes. Our skin was raw, probably worse than getting a sunburn, but I don’t think there were any repercussions from our day at the beach. Now, who was with me? Was it you Bob Stoddard, Gordy Meyer, and Mike Sanjenis…or others? I’d like to hear from you.
Therefore, this memory has stuck with me all these years. Several of us—and I can’t remember who else was involved—went to the beach on one of those rare free afternoons. We knew not to stay long because of the dreaded sunburn threat, but we all rolled around in the sand at the water’s edge, enjoying the cooling waters. Then someone noticed that we were all covered with black oil stains, spilled by the Gulf tankers.
We all hurried back to the barracks and jumped into the shower. Soap didn’t remove the oil, so we used lighter fluid and stiff brushes. Our skin was raw, probably worse than getting a sunburn, but I don’t think there were any repercussions from our day at the beach. Now, who was with me? Was it you Bob Stoddard, Gordy Meyer, and Mike Sanjenis…or others? I’d like to hear from you.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Gathering of Eagles...errr Bogies
As you see in the above picture, another small get together occurred in Florida on 2/17/10. Pictured left to right are Jim Stark, Gordon Meyer, Joe Obusek, and Tom Fritz.
Jim, Gordy and Joe just finished a round of golf and Tom joined them afterwards to hear about all the birdies, pars and 300-yard drives—NOT.
Tom, whom we had not seen previously, filled us in on his intriguing 36 year, Navy career. The most surprising part, we learned, was that while all the rest of us greenhorn cadets were trying to learn to march—hup, two, three, four—and handle the M-1 rifle, Tom had secretly been a Marine for four years! “I didn’t want the DIs to know that, because I knew I would be singled out,” he said. So Tom just pretended to stumble around like the rest of us.
Clandestine behavior turned out to be Tom’s specialty, as he spent most of his career involved with VQ squadrons and in fascinating intelligence operations. Captain Tom was a spook, and if you want to hear some spellbinding stories, buy him a beer and find a quiet corner for a conversation.
Tom Fritz has been dealing with some serious health issues and we wish him continued success in that area.
Joe Obusek highly recommends all Navy vets join the Association of the United States Navy (AUSN). This organization was previously concerned with Navy Reserve interests, but in 2009 broadened its focus to include all Navy matters. AUSN is an advocacy organization that has huge impact on veterans’ health care issues and other benefits. Membership is $40 per year and includes a monthly magazine. Check it out at http://www.ausn.org/
I would also recommend everyone consider membership in the Naval Aviation Museum Foundation. The Foundation puts out a biannual magazine that I read cover-to-cover the day it hits my mailbox. Stories inside are written mostly by WW II pilots with great pictures and other features. I love that publication! Membership is $35 annually. Check it out at http://www.navalaviationmuseum.org/
I’m putting some thoughts together on a reunion in 2011 and will be asking for your thoughts on the details shortly.
Go Navy and 28/62!
Jim, Gordy and Joe just finished a round of golf and Tom joined them afterwards to hear about all the birdies, pars and 300-yard drives—NOT.
Tom, whom we had not seen previously, filled us in on his intriguing 36 year, Navy career. The most surprising part, we learned, was that while all the rest of us greenhorn cadets were trying to learn to march—hup, two, three, four—and handle the M-1 rifle, Tom had secretly been a Marine for four years! “I didn’t want the DIs to know that, because I knew I would be singled out,” he said. So Tom just pretended to stumble around like the rest of us.
Clandestine behavior turned out to be Tom’s specialty, as he spent most of his career involved with VQ squadrons and in fascinating intelligence operations. Captain Tom was a spook, and if you want to hear some spellbinding stories, buy him a beer and find a quiet corner for a conversation.
Tom Fritz has been dealing with some serious health issues and we wish him continued success in that area.
Joe Obusek highly recommends all Navy vets join the Association of the United States Navy (AUSN). This organization was previously concerned with Navy Reserve interests, but in 2009 broadened its focus to include all Navy matters. AUSN is an advocacy organization that has huge impact on veterans’ health care issues and other benefits. Membership is $40 per year and includes a monthly magazine. Check it out at http://www.ausn.org/
I would also recommend everyone consider membership in the Naval Aviation Museum Foundation. The Foundation puts out a biannual magazine that I read cover-to-cover the day it hits my mailbox. Stories inside are written mostly by WW II pilots with great pictures and other features. I love that publication! Membership is $35 annually. Check it out at http://www.navalaviationmuseum.org/
I’m putting some thoughts together on a reunion in 2011 and will be asking for your thoughts on the details shortly.
Go Navy and 28/62!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Old Friends Meet
Hi Guys,
Joe Obusek, Pete Moffett (and his son, Matt), Gordy Meyer and I, recently met at a golf course in Florida to play a round together. That’s a round of “golf” for you with dirty minds. Joe is the “stick,” Pete was our course official, and Gordy and I relived our days at Whiting Field, when on non-flying days we used to play 54 holes of golf. Back then, we established “7” be the par for every hole. It is gratifying to know that after 48 years, Gordy’s and my game has not changed one iota. What a great get together!
Joe (L) Gordy (R)
L to R, Meyer, Obusek, Moffett, Stark
Joe Obusek, Pete Moffett (and his son, Matt), Gordy Meyer and I, recently met at a golf course in Florida to play a round together. That’s a round of “golf” for you with dirty minds. Joe is the “stick,” Pete was our course official, and Gordy and I relived our days at Whiting Field, when on non-flying days we used to play 54 holes of golf. Back then, we established “7” be the par for every hole. It is gratifying to know that after 48 years, Gordy’s and my game has not changed one iota. What a great get together!
Joe (L) Gordy (R)
L to R, Meyer, Obusek, Moffett, Stark
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Gordy Meyer Visit
I had the opportunity Jan 15th to visit with Gordy Meyer and his wife, Anne. He lives just a short distance from my winter digs in Central Florida. Even after Gordy’s glamorous life as a TWA Captain, he’s still an Iowa country boy at heart. When I saw him, he had just returned from a week of hunting wild boar in Alabama. The old fart on the left in picture is yours truly, Gordy on right.
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